Liberties and a White Picket Fence
“I wished we were in the quiet of my room. . .
He was being my friend again, as no other
being on earth had ever been, really, and
I would do as he wished. ‘You know you
are the only one,’ I said suddenly, my own
voice sounding ragged and tired.”
~Anne Rice, The Tale of the Body Thief
I hold you. I hold you with my hands against
My chest and throat, my fingers holding you,
Your body held with fingers that are fenced
Above your heart and other organs, fingers new
To love. I cannot see your face just now
Because your temple is against my ear,
Your hank of hair against my ear, your brow.
The picket fence of fingers holds you near
But not to hold you captured. They are there
To hold your love until you need their gate
To open. Never will they hold your hair
Or any part of you against the weight
Your spirit musters when it needs to be
Released, never against your being free.
{A Dead Affair}